Haunter of the Dark
by mercva
Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!)
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing! 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. 

* * * 

"Over the rolling mountains,   
Over the rolling sea,   
Come a band of angels,   
Soaring on broken wings.   
They're drinking whiskey,   
They're getting high..." 

- Karma to Burn, "Twin Sisters And Half A Bottle Of Bourbon" 

* * * 

BOY WHO LIVED CAUGHT BY CULTISTS (1982, Nov-01) By Dori Skeeter 

The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, was yesterday found to be held captive by the cultists of 'The Church Of Starry Wisdom' for up to a year, subsequent to his abduction from his Muggle guardians. A team of Aurors headed by 'Mad Eye' Moody arrived a day late to rescue the saviour of the wizarding world, as a mob of muggles had already set fire to the cultists' church. Reports have come in to this intrepid reporter of an unknown wizard directing the muggles efforts to eradicate the demon worshipping cultists. Little is known of this mystery man, as the muggles only called him 'Old Wizard Harris.' 

A crack team of Obliviators were working overtime to correct all the breaches of the Muggle-Magic Revealment Act yesterday evening. While a statement from the Ministry of Magic announces that the 'Old Wizard Harris' has broken the letter of the law, this reporter is of the opinion that the Ministry cannot do anything but overlook this in light of his daring rescue of the Boy Who Lived. This reporter thinks that public recognition of some sort may be in order. 

The Church of Starry Wisdom is well known for worshipping demons from the Dark Arts, the most infamous being the Haunter of the Dark. Initial investigations have shown that the prison of the Haunter of the Dark, the Shining Trapezohedron, has broken. We can only hope and pray that our infant saviour has escaped unscathed from this harrowing ordeal, and that the Haunter has been destroyed. 

* * * 

(1991, Oct-31) 

Harry looked up at his guardian. He was currently being tutored by the old man. 

"But sir, if you use /that/ chant, won't it interfere with the Circle of Circe?" 

"Exactly why you /don't/ use the Circle of Circe!," the old man said triumphantly. "You use the Circle of Ariadne!" 

Yes, this is Harry Potter. He can summon (minor) demons from Hell and chain them to do his bidding, but don't expect him to be able to tell you the different between chlorophyll and chloroform. 

They were in a small London studio apartment with no carpet or lino. Dark stains marred the wood in disturbingly regular patterns, and wax shone off the floor at intersections. Harry was sitting at an ex-government desk at the edge of the room, with his old guardian beside him. A large, leatherbound tome lay open in front of them, written in a dead language. 

Harry was the only person who had ever had red eyes, he was sure. Even Uncle Harris only had violet eyes. And he was almost positive that most children could go out in direct light without burning horribly. The short, blackhaired boy sighed, looking at Uncle Harris. He didn't look anything alike -- Harry's face was thin, elegantly built and his frame slight, while Uncle Harris was a tall, heavy set man with a wide face that was always smiling, but looked as if a frown was a heartbeat away. 

Harris paused, looking at Harry. "What are you daydreaming about, Harry?" 

"Sir," Harry hesitated, "are you sure you don't know who my parents are? I mean, surely you know something...?" 

The old man sighed. "I'm sorry. The only reason I know what your name is is because the Head Priest was shrieking 'Save Harry!' I hope you're not unhappy with my last name?" 

Harry shook his head. "No, but I don't think I can concentrate on lessons right now. Can we go shopping?" 

Uncle Harris let a crafty smile creep over his face. "I was sure we had enough bread left, Harry..." 

The boy scowled. "Pigeons and ducks like stale bread, but I don't, and I know that you don't." 

Harris laughed. It was a wheezy, croaking type of laugh. "Fair enough. We need to drop by Ma Baker, first." 

Opening a drawer in the desk, Harris slipped a large revolver into his pocket. He also took out some amulets, putting them into a small bag which he handed to Harry. 

"Got your hat?" 

Harry nodded from under the wide brimmed hat. 

The old magician walked out into the hallway, locking the door behind himself and his ward. 

* * * 

When the two got back from their errand, they found a letter for Harry. 

At least, Uncle Harris /thought/ it was for Harry. 

Harry didn't quite understand, since it was addressed to Harry Potter, and not Harry Harris LaVelle. Perhaps his parents were Potters? 

"Strange, the place doesn't smell," Uncle Harris mused out loud. "Normally them messenger imps leave a bugger of a stink..." 

Harry opened the envelope. If it was for him, yay, if it wasn't meant for him, he wouldn't find out who to send it back to if he didnt open it. 

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read out loud. As he continued reading, his voice started to get quieter. "Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, order of Merlin, first class, grand sork, chef warlock, supreme mugwump..." 

Uncle Harris frowned. "I never heard of any school for wizardry. Albert Harris LaVelle never got any letter, I just learnt it all from Old Nathan..." 

"According to this, I've been accepted to this place," Harry said. "They expect my 'owl' by July 31." 

"Owl? What daft sod would use an owl?" 

"I don't know. Messenger imps /love/ eating owl. An owl wouldn't live long around here, that's for sure." 

Old Wizard Harris scowled. Paranoia was a healthy way to live in his line of work -- if you gave an inch, Elder Gods took a yard. "We'll send a letter back to this 'Dumbledore', asking for more information." 

* * * 

It was lunchtime in the Hogwarts Staffroom, and the faculty who remained at the school over the summer vacation were sitting down to dinner when it happened. 

A small, winged green demon flew in through the open window, holding a letter in it's talons which it dropped in Albus Dumbledore's lap. With a yellow *puff* of sulphurous smoke, it Disapparated to unknown spheres. 

"... what was that?," Madam Pomfrey asked. 

"It... it... it's not from /him/?," Professor Snape asked. 

Dumbledore held a hand up for silence while he read the letter. "Some of our friends at Durmstrang use imps for mail, Poppy." 

"It's not right!," the matron said indignantly. "They should use good, clean owls like everybody else." 

For the first time, Severus Snape had the pleasure of seeing the Headmaster thoroughly shocked. "Albus?" 

"It's... from Harry Potter's guardian," Dumbledore said. He began to recite the letter. "Dear whoever-you-are, I can only assume that this is a plot of some sort. To the best of my knowledge, there are no schools for Wizardry in all of Britain -- indeed, the only formalised place of learning the arcane arts is Miskatonic University, in New England. 

"In the absence of any proof, I am forced to also assume that you are a member of some cult trying to abduct my ward, Harry Harris LaVelle, as you have provided little to no identification and proof of identity of this 'Harry Potter.' 

"If you are indeed earnest in your claims, please attend my residence at nine o' clock, this evening." 

There was a long moment of silence. 

"Did you understand that at all, Albus?," Pomfrey asked. She hadn't. 

"It's obvious," Snape sneered. "This 'Old Wizard Harris' that took Potter in is obviously a muggle daemonologist!" 

* * * 

Back at Wizard Harris' flat, Ma Baker had come a'callin'. It was after tea, and her household had just woken to a... surprise. 

*KNOCKKNOCK* 

"Harry! Get the door!" 

"Hi, Ma Baker. Uncle Harris is busy right now, but you can come in and wait if you want; he won't be long." 

Ma Baker wasn't physically impressive. She was a shortish woman, with greying brown hair in a tight bun, and little round glasses over her eyes. Ma Baker had never in her life been caught wearing pants, and she was rather stout. If asked what her job was, she would be rather evasive. If pressed, she'd admit to property re-assignment, or perhaps bank inspection. Her four sons were standing behind her, ranging in age from eleven to nineteen. 

She sat down on the old couch that Harris had bought for guests, and waited for the old wizard to finish. While she waited, she nervously scanned a peculiar looking letter that her youngest had received today in a most unusual manner. 

Then there was another knock on the door. Harry went to answer it. 

"Oh, hi, Mr Brooks. Uncle Harris is busy, but he'll finish soon, come in." 

Mr Brooks was of low-middle class, but quite happy with life. If he ever met Arthur Weasley, the two would find much in common. Mr Brooks had a job fixing computers, which didn't pay very well. At the moment, he appeared quite worried. His son was behind him. Mr Brooks had made the mistake of asking the old man to name his son, as he had been at quite a loss after his wife died in childbirth. 

"We, that is, Satanus, received a, a letter on a school on wizardry and, uh, want to ask Old Wizard Harrisabout it," the computer technician stammered, quite unsure of what to do. 

Harry nodded. The man took a seat on the sofa, once Ma Baker shoo'ed her youngest off it to make room. 

The door to the rest of the studio flat opened at that stage, showing Harris. He had obviously just gotten changed, and was dressed in his good clothing, which was an exceedingly oldfashioned and formal suit. 

"Oh, Albert, you didn't have to get changed on my accord," Ma Baker teased. 

"Hello Ma, Tad," Harris greeted the woman and man. "What brings you here?" 

"We both seem to have gotten these letters," Mr Brooks said, handing old Harris his letter. "Well, Satanus has gotten it..." 

"And since you're the only wizard we know, we thought we'd come ask you about it," Ma Baker finished. 

Harris examined the letters that the two parents had handed to him. Both were the same as Harry's letter, except for the recipients names and addresses. 

"Hmmmmmmm," he said. "This is the first I've heard of this school as well. The Headmaster should be visiting in... half a minute to explain." 

Ma Baker looked unhappy at this -- she trusted Old Wizard Harris far more than some unknown schoolteacher. Before she got a chance to complain, however, a whitehaired old man with a long beard dressed in a robe appeared in the flat with a *pop*! 

"Ah, hello," the old man said, adjusting his halfmoon glasses. "Is Albert Harris LaVelle and Harry Potter here?" 

"Who're you?," Ma Baker demanded. She'd gotten out a nasty looking sawn off double barrelled shotgun and had it pointed at the old man. "I don't trust strange people." 

"Are you Albus Dumbledore?," Harris asked. 

The old man nodded, happily ignoring the menacing gun pointed at him. He pulled a bag of sweets out of his pocket, offering it around. "Lemon drop?" 

Old Harris slowly pushed down the muzzle of the old woman's gun. "Headmaster, I'm Albert Harris LaVelle, this is Harry, these are my friends Ma Baker and Mr Brooks, and I believe you owe us all an explanation." 

Three of Ma Baker's boys took a lemon drop each, the eldest looking at Dumbledore suspiciously. Harry took one as well. 

"Mr Dumbledore," Harry began, "you seem to know what my last name was. Do you know anything about my parents?" 

"Yes, I taught them," the old man said sadly. "It's a shame that they had to die... pardon me." 

The old man wiped at suspiciously damp eyes. Harry wasn't really affected; he barely remembered his parents. 

Dumbledore recovered, and blinked. "My goodness, you're all here together? How convenient. The first thing I have to tell you is that magic exists." 

"Old news," Ma Baker dismissed. "Old Wizard Harris here can do heaps of stuff with magic." 

"The second thing I have to tell you is that Harry Potter, Timothy Baker, and Satanus Brooks can do magic," Dumbledore said, sucking on a lemon drop. "That is, independant magic, not only Ritual or Summoning magic." 

Harris blinked. "Oh." 

Mr Brooks cleared his throat. "If Satanus went to this... Hogwarts, what career would he be able to pursue? I mean, he'd be able to support himself financially afterwards?" 

"My word, yes," Dumbledore said. "Anything, from Potions Mastery to Auroring to dragon taming is possible." 

"What's it cost?," Ma Baker asked. "I can't afford to send Tim if it'll cost a lot." 

"Are you sure you don't want a lemon drop? The only cost is for school materials." 

"I'm not letting Harry go to this school without me to keep an eye out for him," Harris said. 

"Well...," Dumbledore said, thinking, "there aren't any openings at the moment. However, several students have expressed an interest in Ritual Magic." 

The old muggle magician nodded sternly, crossing his arms over his suit. "Good, then it's settled. Ma Baker, Tad, I'll look after your boys as well." 

Dumbledore nodded. "It'd be best if you organised a syllabus now, then. Do you need any directions to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies?" 

"That'd be nice," Tim Baker said dryly. 

"I take it this is a boarding school?," Satanus Brooks, Mr Brooks' son asked. 

The Headmaster nodded, handing Tim another lemon drop. "To get to Diagon Alley, you need to find a pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron', near Charing Cross Road. Ask the barman, Tom, to direct you to Diagon Alley from there." 

"That about covers it for us," Mr Brooks said. 

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then," Harris said as he showed Ma Baker, Mr Brooks, and the five children to the door. "Harry, go to bed while I discuss things with Mr Dumbledore." 

* * * 

The next day, they took Ma Baker's old Bedford van to Charing Cross Road. Somehow, the adults managed to all fit on the front seat while the six children took the back seat. They were all looking for the Leaky Cauldron through the front windows, as the back windows had all been blacked out. 

"Did that old man give any other directions?," Mr Brooks asked, beginning to get quite annoyed. She turned down a dark sidestreet. 

"No," Ma Baker said. "Silly old fool! You kids seen anything?" 

"There!," Harry yelled. "The Broken Drum." 

Ma Baker carefully parked the old van. An innocent car that had been parked too far from the kerb got it's paint unceremoniously scraped along the van's steel rear bumper. 

The nine of them trooped into the small pub. The pub was filled with green smoke, and numerous people in black robes were sitting around tables. Old Harris strode to the bar. 

"Excuse me?," he asked. "I'm looking for an alley to buy stuff." 

The barkeep nodded wisely. "Looking for the Alley, eh? Through the back there, mate. Tap the middle brick once, smartly." 

Behind the pub building was a dirty brick wall. The middle brick was cleaner than the rest, and Harry ran forward and tapped it. The bricks drew back into the wall to form an arch to a black street with shops along it. 

"Right," Ma Baker said, pulling out Tim's letter. "Everyone look for some sort of book shop." 

They'd gotten about ten meters down the narrow street before an aristocratic man pulled them up. 

"Excuse me, but what do you mudbloods think you're doing?" 

"I don't like your tone of voice, young man. I'm Ma Baker, so shut up and move along." 

"Crucio!" 

Harry could only look on, shocked, as Ma Baker writhed in pain, unable to do anything. Robert, Ma Baker's oldest son shouted out "Get him!" 

All four Baker boys mobbed the blonde man, who was taken completely by surprise. Tim stole the man's wand that he had pointed at Tim's Ma, while the others kept hitting him. Robert was using a cast iron, meter long prybar that he'd had tucked away to hit the man in the chest. 

Harry was sure that the blonde man had a few broken ribs now, as well as some embarassing bruises. The man didn't seem to know how to get the boys off him, as he ineffectively tried to push them off. 

Old Wizard Harris had been chanting during this, building up to something. Harry and Satanus had given him room. Harry, recognising the end of the chant, yelled to the others "Get off him NOW!" 

"... sodomy est humanare EXCRUCIATUS!" 

A beam of scarlet light leapt from Old Wizard Harris' hands to the blonde man, who writhed in pain worse than Ma Baker had, before collapsing as smoke rose from his ears. 

Mr Brooks helped Ma Baker to her feet. 

"I can't believe that animal hurt you like that!," the computer technician said. 

The old woman tottered over to the once handsome blonde man. Now, bruises decorated his face and his chest had some disturbing dents in it. She spat on him. 

"Rot in Hell!" 

A woman selling what looked like human fingernails approached them. "Oh, dear, that's Lucius Malfoy you just beat up." 

"He's an idiot!," Harry retorted. 

"Where can we get this stuff?," Harris asked, shoving the list under the woman's nose. 

The decrepit female looked over the letter. "Ohhhh, Hogwarts. How on Earth did you get here? You want /Diagon/ Alley, that way. This here is /Knockturn/ Alley." 

"Better be better than here," Harry grumbled. "Stupid asshole." 

The group made their way to the /right/ Alley. Ma Baker handed out some mints to everyone as a reward for standing up for her, and so everyone was quite silent as they sucked on them. No one could smell anything after one of Ma Baker's special mints, but that was quite alright considering the state of the dark alley. 

"/Here/ we go," Uncle Harris said as they got out into a bright, sunny alley. "Now, uniforms. Ahhhh..." 

"There," Satanus said. "Is that what we're looking for? 'Madam Malkins Robes For All Occasions?" 

"Worth a try," Harry said. 

"I'll take them in," Mr Brooks said. "You and Ma Baker take a load off at the ice cream shop." 

"Are you for Hogwarts?," Madam Malkin asked when they walked in. 

Harry, Satanus, and Tim put their hands up silently. 

"You, up onto the stool for a fitting," Madam Malkin commanded. Harry obeyed. 

A pale blonde boy was also being fitted for his school robes. "Hello, Hogwarts too?" 

Satanus nodded. "Yes, all three of us are going together." 

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." 

Satanus' eyes glittered. "I'd rather have a Diablo than a broom," he challenged. 

The boy flicked his hands dismissively. "Without a broom, one cannot get onto the house Quidditch team, and that would be terrible. Do you play at all?" 

"No," said Harry, feeling that the boy was terribly self-interested. 

"I do," the boy said. "Father says it'd be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I quite agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?" 

"A good one," Harry said evasively. 

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" 

"Of /course/," Tim said, voice in that peculiar tone that people use to mock the rich and powerful. "How /dreadful./" 

"I've been dreadfully impolite," the boy said. "My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. And you?" 

"Harry Harris LaVelle." 

"Satanus Brook." 

"Tim Baker." 

"A LaVelle?," Draco asked. "There hasn't been a LaVelle in Britain for a long time." 

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin said, shoo'ing Harry off the stool. The lady pinning Draco's clothes announced that he, too, was done. 

Draco said that he'd see Harry at the train, with which Harry disagreed but didn't feel like argueing with. Harry got the impression that Draco had decided that Harry was to do as Draco said, and didn't feel the need to ask Harry. 

Satanus and Tim were then fitted for robes, then Mr Brooks paid for them. He had a bit of trouble with that. 

"That'll be a galleon and two sickles, dear." 

"Ah... how much is that in pounds, please?" 

"Oh, are you Muggles? You can get your money changed at Gringotts Bank, but I'll let you pay this once. Thirty pounds, please." 

"Thanks!" 

The others caught Mr Brooks and the three boys as they walked out of the shop. 

"Tad! You need to get your--" 

"Money changed," Mr Brooks cut off Ma Baker. "The shop lady told us. Where is it?" 

The old woman pointed down the alley at a big white marble building. She was quite obviously put out that Wizarding money was different to Muggle money, and thus was of no use if she took it. 

At the bank, they found that the bank was run by strange little green men. Mr Brooks walked uncertainly to a free teller, and asked to change his money. 

"There," the goblin said. "A hundred pounds exchanged. Is there anything else?" 

"Could I open three accounts for these boys?," Mr Brooks asked. 

The goblin looked down at the three boys. "These two, yes, but Harry Potter here already has an account and a safe left to him by his parents." 

Tim and Satanus looked at Harry. "Who's Harry Potter?" 

Harry shrugged. "It used to be my name, I think, before Uncle Harris rescued me." 

"Instructions have been left to give you the key," the goblin continued, handing Harry a little gold key. "Accounts have been opened for the other two. Details are on these pamplets here, and here are the keys." 

Satanus and Tim received their own keys in short order. 

"Can I see my safe?," Harry asked. 

"Griphook!," the goblin shouted. Another goblin appeared. 

"Take Harry Potter to his safe!," the teller commanded. 

Harry obediently followed Griphook to a mining cart. The cart immediately took off like a bat out of hell, zooming down windy little tracks. Finally, the cart stopped by a small door. Griphook unlocked it for Harry. 

A lot of green smoke billowed out of it. Once it had cleared, Harry could see mounds and mounds of silver, gold, and copper coins. He got out a bag and started shovelling. He left nearly all of it in the safe, taking about fifty of each type of coin. 

One wild cart ride later found Harry back in the sunshine (under his hat to stop burning.) 

To everyone's disappointment, the rest of the trip was rather plebian, consisting of buying strange ingredients and weird books. Ma Baker and Mr Brooks had to talk very quickly to get Uncle Harris out of the bookshop, however. 


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing! 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. 

Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. 

* * * 

"Rise - from the ashes and decay   
Rise - from the prison of belief   
Rise - from the standards and the norm   
Rise - into the eye of the storm!   
RISE!"   
-Risen, KMFDM 

* * * 

Ma Baker looked at the three boys in front of her. They'd gotten back from the shopping trip, and she wanted to hand some advice to them. 

"Now, boys, I've never been to a boarding school but you hear things about them. So Satanus, Harry, every evening, you two are gonna come over and we're going to show you how to defend yourself and the basics of using a weapon." 

Mr Brooks looked uneasy about something, and added some advice. "Don't let anyone touch you in wrong ways, you know what I mean? Satanus, if anyone tries anything you go straight to Old Wizard Harris." 

"What?," Harry asked, perplexed. 

Harris and Mr Brooks looked at each other uneasily. 

"Oh, for Hell's sake!," Ma Baker sighed. "He means you don't let anyone try and fuck you. Kick 'em in the nads -- hard -- and run a'yellin' to Old Harris." 

"Ohhh," Tim said. "That." 

Bill Baker, second oldest Baker boy, had been paging through one of the new books. _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. He'd just learnt Harry's parents' name. 

"Ma! Ma!," Bill yelled as he spotted something. "Harry's Godfather's in the big house!" 

"What?," Ma Baker said. "Hand me that book." 

Everyone crowded around. They'd all heard about Pa Baker, who was currently in prison, and they'd all heard about Great Aunt Sally, who had just been sentenced in court. 

"Sirius Black," Mr Brooks mused. "Wasn't he in the news ten years ago or so? Killed fourteen people at once, blew up a street and survived." 

All the Bakers looked at Harry. 

"That is /sooooo/ cool," Robert said, voicing their collective thoughts. 

"Can we do a jailbreak, Ma?," Bill asked. "I've never seen a wizard prison." 

"We'll have to practice on their banks, first," Ma said. "These wizard folks seem to be loaded." 

"Please," Mr Brooks protested. "Feel free to plan, but not in front of me!" 

"Ha!," Harris snorted. "This coming from the man known as Lord Hellfire, who thinks the US Secret Service really should improve their computer security?" 

* * * 

A month later, Ma Baker thought she'd about figured out how to break into Gringotts Bank. It was time for the three boys to leave before anything could happen, though. 

All nine people had piled into the Bakers' old van. It was a squeeze, with four trunks as well. At Kings Cross, Ma Baker pressganged her eldest children to help pile the trunks onto some trolleys. They moved through the complex, then hit a brick wall. 

"Where in blazes is Platform Nine and Three Quarters?," Mr Brooks asked. 

There was a brick wall linking Nine and Ten, but no Platform 9 3/4. 

"Are you going to Hogwarts?," a short, stout woman with red hair asked. 

"Some of our boys are," Ma Baker said. "I'm Ma Baker." 

"Nice to meet you, Mrs Baker," the woman said. "I'm Mrs Weasley." 

"About this Platform...," Mr Brooks trailed off. 

"Run through the wall there," Mrs Weasley said. "Percy, you show them." 

Her eldest boy there ran through. Oddly, he didn't bounce off the bricks painfully but rather went through. 

"Oh!," Satanus said. "A hologram!" 

The twins with red hair looked at him funny. "Are you Muggleborn? It's an illusion." 

"Fred, be nice," their mother admonished. 

"Mum, I'm George," the maligned thirteen year old protested. 

"Sorry, George. George, be nice to them." 

"Actually, I'm Fred after all." 

"Thanks for the help," Harris said. "We'll just move on." 

The nine of them walked through the illusionary wall, only to find a regrettably memoriable face. 

"YOU!" 

Lucius Malfoy turned around, to find the muggles and mudbloods that had beaten him black and blue. Explaining those injuries to Narcissa and Draco had been very difficult. 

"Mudbloods," the blonde man sneered. 

Robert pulled out the meter long prybar. "You want more of the same?" 

Mr Malfoy ignored the nine, turning to his son. "Draco, I expect you to act in a manner befitting a Malfoy. If you do not, be assured I will find out." 

"Arse," Harris muttered as he pulled his trunk onto the train, the boys right behind him. 

"Now, Albert, set a good example for the children," Ma Baker scolded, firmly in 'maternal' mode. Harry suspected it was due to meeting that other woman, Mrs Weasel or whatever her name had been. 

"Tim, you can have this," Robert said once they'd tucked the trunks away in a compartment. The nineteen year old handed the cast iron prybar to his eleven year old brother. "You know what to do if that asshole's son gives you trouble." 

"Sure," Tim said. "Beat his head in while Harry and Satanus hold him down." 

"Now, you're the first Baker to ever go to boarding school, so don't embarass us," Ma Baker lectured. 

"Okay, Ma," Tim said resignedly. 

"Satanus, the same goes for you," Mr Brooks said. He handed a large bag of sweets to his son. "These are for you to share out." 

Ma Baker and Mr Brooks gave their respective children a hug, then got off the train. The horn sounded, then the locomotive began to pull away from the station. 

* * * 

To pass the time, the four of them were discussing their plans for Hogwarts. Uncle Harris still had his oldfashioned suit on. 

"What do you have planned for the future?," Harry asked Tim. 

The boy's eyes glittered with avarice. "I'm going to live as the richest man in the world, what else? No one is gonna look down on the Bakers any more." 

"That's useless," Harry argued. "Power is better. With power you can take money." 

"With money you can buy power!" 

"You're both wrong," Satanus interrupted. "Knowledge /is/ power. I'm going to know more than anyone else." 

"The actual answer is a mixture of all three attributes," Uncle Harris said. "Knowledge, power, and resources. Along with ambition and drive, of course." 

"Speaking of power," Harry said, "can I do that familiar spell yet?" 

"Familiar?," Satanus asked. "Some kind of magical companion beast?" 

"Not quite," Harris said. "At least, that's not all of it. You can use familiars in Ritual magic, and they can add their own energy to a spell you're casting. It's also possible to possess them." 

"Cool," Tim said. "Can you teach us this stuff?" 

Harry smirked. "The first years are only going to get /basic/ lessons. But Uncle Harris said he'd keep teaching me advanced stuff in the evenings." 

"Dammit," Satanus muttered. Something occured to him. "Hey, does anyone know if this magic school has electricity?" 

All three people looked at him like he had turned into a three headed dog. 

"You've got to be /joking/," Tim said. "Even Great Aunt Sally's shack in the Appalachians has electricity, and that's thirty miles away from the nearest farmhouse." 

The hacker's son blushed. "You're right, you're right." 

"These wizards aren't right in the head though," Uncle Harris said, "so they might not. I mean, who'd use a blasted /owl/ to send their mail?" 

"Something about that Headmaster was pretty off," Harry agreed. 

"If my laptop or stereo don't work, heads are gonna roll," Satanus threatened. While the stereo was an old one that he'd been given by a friend, the laptop was given to him by his father. 

The compartment door slid open, showing the silvery-blonde haired son of the man that they'd beaten up in Knockturn alley. Two very stocky and dim looking boys were behind him. Tim reached for the prybar. 

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment," Draco Malfoy drawled. "Which one of you is Potter?" 

"Me," Harry said. "That's my old name." 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "LaVelle? Adopted, are you?" 

Uncle Harris got up. "My name is Albert Harris LaVelle and I adopted him. If you want to stay here, you'd better speak fast and prove you're not like your bigoted father, or else you'll get what he got." 

The blonde boy looked up and down the old, suited man insolently. "The Muggle professor? I heard about you from my Father. Merlin, they really do let anyone into Hogwarts these days." 

Draco turned to Harry, extending a hand. "You don't want to go making friends with the /wrong sort/. I can help you there." 

The red eyed boy regarded Draco. "Yes, as a perfect example of the wrong sort." 

Draco, already possessed of a naturally pale complexion, went even paler at the insult. "I'd be careful if I were you. Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents." 

Satanus pulled a box with two metal probes from his pocket. Quick as lightning, he poked Draco with the prongs and pushed a button on the box. The scion of the House of Malfoy fell to the ground, shaking rather badly. His two goons behind him stepped backwards uneasily. 

"Unless you boys want the same, I suggest you take your butt buddy there and drag him to you den," Tim hissed. 

"Er, what's a butt buddy? And what was that thing?," one of them asked unsurely. 

Harry, Tim, and Satanus exchanged incredulous looks. Surely no one was this stupid? 

"I'm not sure I should tell you something so powerful...," Uncle Harris trailed off. There was a nasty glint in his eye. 

"Tell me!," the stupider of the two demanded. 

"Get out!," Tim snarled, taking a new grip on the prybar. 

They got. Uncle Harris began teaching Tim and Satanus the basics of Ritual Magic to pass the time. 

* * * 

Once they reached the train station for Hogwarts, it was getting rather dark. All the students in the other years moved in one direction, while the first years were beckoned by a very large man with a beard like a thorn bush. 

"Boys, I'll see you once we get there," Uncle Harris said. "I've got to go with the others, see?" 

"Okay," Harry said. 

"Firs' years!," the huge man bellowed. "Firs' years over here!" 

The man introduced himself as Hagrid, Keeper of the Grounds and Keys. The three boys obediently followed with the other first years. The first years were led from the train station to a path going through a forest. All of them resolutedly city dwellers, they didn't like the narrow little trail that they had to follow the man down, nor did they like the rampant wildlife. 

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the man said. "Jus' around this bend here." 

"Yay," Harry said. "If this is what their garden is like, I can't /wait/ to see the rest." 

Once they got through the forest, they saw Hogwarts for the first time. All three were impressed with the imposing architecture. A fleet of small boats rose from the water, and they took passage in them over the lake in front of Hogwarts, disembarking to enter the large complex. A stern faced woman who reminded Harry of his old English teacher took over from Hagrid, telling them to wait for her to call them in the small room where they were left. 

Once the woman left, all the new students began speculating on how they'd be sorted into the four Houses of Hogwarts. Harry and his two friends remained silent, as they had no idea. Obviously, they'd probably be sorted according to personality if the House descriptions were anything to go by, but none of them knew /how/ they'd be sorted. 

A red haired boy said that his older brother reported that it hurt a lot, and a bushy haired girl that Draco picked on was worrying about all the spells she'd read about, and which one she'd need to demonstrate. Draco and his friends all looked very confident, but Harry was sure they were silent for the same reason as he was. 

Then something happened that caused Harry to jump a foot in the air -- several kids screamed. Everyone turned to see what had happened. 

Twenty ghosts had streamed through the back wall. They were transparent, and pearly white. The spectres were gliding across the floor, argueing, hardly paying any attention to the new entrants. The topic of argumentation seemed to be a ghost called 'Peeves'. 

"New students!," one of the more observant ghosts said. He appeared to have been a friar in life, and was rather rotund. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" 

Normally Satanus would have a smart remark to shoot back, but he was rather unsettled by the apparitions. A few of the students from magical families nodded mutely. 

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!," the fat friar said. "My old House, you know!" 

"Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea," Satanus trailed off nastily. Harry and Tim laughed evilly. None of them wanted to be in Hufflepuff! 

"Move along now," the woman from before, Professor McGonagall said. Harry hadn't noticed her return. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Now form a line and follow me." 

They followed her into the Great Hall. Hundreds of students were sitting at four tables, with thousands of candles and a few ghosts mixed in with them. A table at the head of the other four tables had the teachers at it, except for Professor McGonagall. The woman put a wooden stool in front of the first years, and put a pointed wizard's hat on top of that. 

After a brief moment of silence, Tim Baker spoke up. "Damn, that's one dirty hat." 

He was immediately hushed by the Professor. A large rip opened up near the brim, and the hat began to sing. 

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind; Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) For I'm a Thinking Cap!" 

Harry looked on in stunned disbelief. He'd expected some sort of test, or an evaluation by a counsellor. A hat was going to sort him?! 

These fancy wizards were mad. 

"When I call your name," McGonagall said, " you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!" 

A blonde, pigtailed girl stumbled forwards and put on the hat. A moment later, the hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!" 

Next was "Baker, Tim!" 

The son of the bank robber shuffled forwards and put on the ratty looking hat. After half a minute, it yelled "SLYTHERIN!" at the top of it's... well, not lungs, but very loudly, anyway. A few more first years were next, and after Brocklehurst, Amanda... 

"Brooks, Satanus!" 

The hacker's son stepped forwards nervously, putting on the hat. Harry and Tim watched nervously as the Sorting Hat shouted out "SLYTHERIN!" after half a minute. 

Harry dozed off, listening absently for his name. He ignored the students being sorted for the moment -- he really didn't care where /they/ went. It came as quite a surprise when "Potter, Harry!" 

"Er, what do you mean?," Harry said. "My name's been changed to Harry Harris LaVelle." 

McGonagall looked quite thrown off her stride. "No it hasn't!" 

Uncle Harris, who Harry hadn't noticed at the head table, got up and handed Professor McGonagall a small black book. 

"The English Government and this passport say otherwise," the old man said. 

Professor McGonagall took a moment to look over the official passport. The Great Hall was suddenly filled with noise, as students began argueing. 

"SILENCE!," the Professor said. "Well, this looks correct. LaVelle, Harry!" 

Having corrected the mistake, Harry sauntered to the Sorting Hat and put it on. 

"Hmmm," said a small voice in his ear. Harry could only assume it was the Hat. "What have we here? Rather easy to sort... a thirst for power, not a bad mind, determination... It'd better be SLYTHERIN!" 

The hat shouted the last word out to the rest of the Hall. Almost everyone was in an uproar when Harry Pott-ah, Harry LaVelle was put in Slytherin. The Boy-Who-Lived in Voldemort's house! As Harry walked to the correct table, he noticed that half the Slytherins were clapping and the others were looking at him with interest. He sat down between Tim and Satanus, as they'd left a space between them for him. 

"I was worried we'd get split up," Satanus said. "I didn't want to have to deal with the Three Stooges by myself." 

A prefect hushed him up, as the Sorting continued. Once 'Zabini, Blaise!' was sorted into Slytherin, McGonagall took the Hat and the stool away. 

Headmaster Dumbledore got to his feet at the head table with his arms open wide. "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" 

The students clapped and cheered as the elderly man sat down. Harry honestly didn't know if the man was mad or not, and if their expressions were anything to go by, Tim and Satanus didn't either. Draco Malfoy, who had also been Sorted into Slytherin, clearly thought that Dumbledore was mad. 

"Is he... a bit mad?," Harry asked the prefect who had hushed Satanus. 

"Mad as a hatter," the prefect confirmed. "Some say he's the best wizard in the world, but he is mad. Now leave me alone, I want my tea." 

All three boys blinked, surprised, as food began to appear magically on the plates in front of them. Potatoes, roast beef, roast chicken, sausages, fries, vegetables, and half a million other different foods and condiments. For some weird reason, there were also peppermints. 

Uncle Harris, Ma Baker, and Mr Brooks had never starved their children but they'd also never had the money to be extravagant with their budget. They all took a bit of everything, except for the peppermints. Satanus put a handful of the peppermints in his pocket for later, however. 

When everyone had had their fill, the food disappeared from the plates, leaving them sparklingly clean. The dessert appeared in the same manner as the previous course after that, in just as much variety if not more. Being eleven, they all piled their plates with sugary goodness. 

Harry looked up at the head table to see Uncle Harris, to see that his uncle was alright. The old man was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. The teacher on Uncle Harris' other side had a turban on, and had also joined the conversation. 

The greasy haired teacher abruptly turned his head, looking directly at Harry with a thoughtful expression. As the man turned his head back to Harry's guardian, a stab of pain shot through the peculiar scar on his forehead. 

Why had that happened? 

* * * 

Post Fic Comments: 

I'm being a kind soul and actually posting something. I'm sure that only two people will /read/ this, but please enjoy it nonetheless. 


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing! 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. 

Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. 

* * * 

"I'm a man who's sick , but I got class,   
'coz you only get respect when you're kickin' ass."   
-KMFDM, 'Beast' 

* * * 

"First year Slytherins this way," a dry male voice called out once tea had finished and Dumbledore had dismissed them. 

Harry and his two friends followed the fifth year prefect they had been sitting near, as he guided them and their yearmates to the Slytherin complex. It seemed to involve a lot of walking, going down stairs, and getting bored in general. Eventually, however, they reached a patch of wall with a carving of a snake. 

"This is the entrance," the prefect said. "The password is price. Don't forget, or you'll be stuck outside. Don't bring in the other houses, or we'll make you go live with them if you're so fond of them. Don't tell, or we'll kill you." 

The snake carving moved as the prefect said 'price', slithering across the wall as it formed a circle, mouth biting it's tail. The stone contained in the circle faded into a dull grey mirror. 

"Well?," the prefect asked. "Move!" 

Malfoy sniffed, striding through the circle, his two goons following. The girls followed him, and Harry, Satanus, Tim, Blaise, and the prefect made up the tail end. As the prefect went through, the snake shifted back to it's previous position, mirror melting back into the stones of the wall. 

The room beyond the portal was composed of grey stone, green carpet, black leather couches, and a lit fireplace at the other end. There were burning torches on the walls, but they didn't seem to consume themselves as they burnt. The prefect moved through the group of first years to the fireplace. 

"There are a number of rooms in the complex," the older boy said. "You will choose your own, and it will be your own responsibility to guard it against unwelcome guests. Once you have chosen, your belongings will appear at the foot of the bed. The private library of Slytherin House is through that door, there, and the bathrooms are through there. Your timetables will be handed out tomorrow, at breakfast." 

Harry yawned, getting tired. The prefect dismissed them all, then the three of them set out to find their own rooms. 

* * * 

"Okay," Satanus said, "I vote we take this one." 

The room in question was quite large, about ten meters square. Thin stone pillars were dotted thinly through it. It was furnished with desks, drawers seats and so on. 

"Okay," Tim shrugged. "Here it is. Bags this bed." 

He took the one nearest the door. His trunk appeared at the foot of it as he sat on it. Satanus and Harry quickly took the other two beds, then the hacker looked around. 

"Hey, can any of you guys see a power point?," he asked as he started unpacking his things. The small stereo, his laptop, and an extension cable were among the first things he brought out. 

"Nope," Harry shrugged. "Keep it down, cos I'm going to bed." 

* * * 

The next morning, Harry was woken up by Satanus swearing a blue streak. 

"Stupid piece of shit room!," Satanus swore. 

"Wha's the problem," Harry yawned, reaching for his glasses. 

"There isn't a power socket in here!," Satanus complained. "We have to shift to one that does!" 

"Can't they magic one in here?," Tim asked, also woken up by Satanus. 

"They should be able to," Harry shrugged. "What's for breakfast?" 

"Dunno," Satanus groused. "I've been sorting my stuff out." 

Harry's mouth dropped open as he looked at the desk that Satanus had appropriated. His monitor, keyboard, and mouse were sitting on it, with the laptop sitting open and running on the mousepad. The computer itself was sitting on the floor, by one pair of desk legs. A massive pair of speakers framed the desk, a component amplifier standing underneath the monitor. 

"How in God's name did you fit all that stuff in your trunk?," Tim asked, not quite as gobsmacked as Harry. 

"Got the trunk in that Diagonally place," Satanus shrugged. The laptop's power expired as the screen from his game of Quake to a black screen of death, or no power. "F^^K!" 

"Language," the prefect reprimanded them, entering the room. "Foul language shows a lack of intelligence. Brooks, is this setup yours?" 

Satanus nodded, frowning slightly. "I can't find a power socket, though." 

The prefect's mouth changed ever so slightly, into what could be extrapolated as an evil grin. "Ask Professor Dumbledore to get you one at breakfast. He should be there, now." 

"Thanks," Satanus said, rushing over to his trunk and pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Harry! Tim! Get yer gear on!" 

The other two boys groaned, climbing out of bed. Even if they waited for Satanus to go away, he'd probably wake them up coming back for his stuff. School sucked. 

* * * 

"Ah, food, how I love thee," Tim said, munching on his cereal. "These Wizards sure have weird cereal, though." 

"They're all mad," Harry shrugged. "That's my working assumption." 

"Potter," a familiar voice drawled. "I might have known. Where is the last member of your gang of stooges?" 

"Wow," Harry said brightly, "you've heard of the Three Stooges? Aren't they Muggles?" 

Draco blushed lightly at this. "Never heard of them. Sheer coincidence. I'm giving you another chance, Potter. Move away from those mudblood friends and that... /Muggle/ professor, and I might consider friendship with you." 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, when a loud, angry, eleven year old voice made itself known at the head table. 

"NO ELECTRICITY? WHAT KIND OF BACKWATER HELLHOLE ARE YOU RUNNING HERE, YOU SCHIZOPHRENIC OLD FART?! WHAT KIND OF ILLITERATE, INNUMERATE SCHOOL DOESN'T HAVE ELECTRICITY? I'M SURPRISED YOU'VE GOT RUNNING WATER! YOU--" 

Satanus' voice abruptly cut out as McGonagall, recovered from her shock, cast 'silencio' on him. 

"Mr Brooks," she began, "how /dare/ you speak to the Headmaster with such /disrespect/? Ten--" 

"Minerva," Snape cut in, "he was... merely expressing his displeasure with the state of affairs here in Hogwarts with regards to modern conveniences, am I right, Mr Brooks?" 

Satanus nodded impotently, his face a black stormcloud. 

"Professor Snape is right," Dumbledore managed. He had just about had a heart attack when a first year had shouted him down. "However, respect in this school must be maintained. Five points from Slytherin for conduct." 

"Finite Incantatum," Professor McGonagal pronounced. 

"No power? What about my computer? What about all my reference material /on/ the computer?," Satanus demanded loudly. The silent Great Hall could all hear him quite clearly. "And I've seen the timetable. /No/ maths. /No/ English. /No/ Science. Heck, you don't even teach basic arithmetic! What has this hellhole got over a muggle school?" 

"/Mister/ Brooks," Professor McGonagall began, "this school has a long history of educating wizards. We have no /need/ for muggle subjects." 

Professor Vector shot her a black look at that. "Minerva, he has a good point about the maths. Why, when I get new students in their third year, I have to teach the pureblood students things that a first year muggle-born student knows!" 

This was obviously a sore point for Vector. 

"Eh-hem!," Dumbledore coughed. "Much as this is interesting, can I have my breakfast? Mr Brooks, could you please return to yours?" 

Satanus, still grumbling angrily, returned to the Slytherin table and grabbed an empty bowl. 

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff looked at him with hate in their eyes. How dare he abuse Headmaster Dumbledore like that! 

Ravenclaw looked at him thoughtfully. This first year was obviously a thinker, and worthy of further study. 

Half of Slytherin looked at him worshipfully for shouting down the muggle-loving Headmaster (ignoring Satanus' origins for the time being), while the other half were jealous of his instant notoriety. 

"What's first on the timetable, Mister I Know All?," Harry asked. 

"Your uncle," Satanus said. His scowl lifted. "He's cool, although we've got the Gryffindors with us. What's he going to teach today?" 

"A demonstration, probably," Harry shrugged. 

* * * 

"I'm sure that my father will have this muggle crackpot out of school faster than you can say 'Quidditch'," Draco Malfoy boasted outside the classroom while they waited. 

"Shut up, Malfoy!," a redheaded boy yelled, shaking a fist. 

The pale blonde boy looked the other up and down insultingly. "Red hair... ratty clothes... you must be a Weasley." 

The other boy shouted in rage, then leapt at Malfoy, fist first. 

"Ten points from Slytherin and Gryffindor," an old voice said as the classroom door opened. "Sit down at a table, but do not touch /anything/ at the front of the room." 

"What were the points for?," Malfoy asked pugnaciously. 

"A lack of intelligence, and failing to discover a non-physical way to resolve your issues," Professor LaVelle said, stepping over a green line of gem dust on the floor to his desk. "Now. I am going to call the roll, and each of you will respond with 'present' if you are indeed here. Brown, Lavender." 

He went through the class list easily, then a brown haired girl in Gryffindor raised her hand. 

"Yes, Miss... Granger?" 

"Sir, why are we learning summoning, when it is proscribed to learn that?" 

The Professor, clothed in his best muggle suit with the gold pocketwatch, sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He then put his hands in his pockets. "Only summoning from the outer spheres is, in fact, illegal in Britain. I have only recently /learnt/ of these laws and if you wish to know more about them, I recommend you ask the Headmaster. Does anyone else have any questions?" 

Draco Malfoy's hand shot up immediately. 

"Malfoy?" 

"What makes a muggle like /you/ qualified to teach any kind of magic?," the aristocratic boy asked with a sneer. 

"Well, then, let me show you," Professor LaVelle said jovially. 

The old man went into a back room, then the class exploded with talk. The Slytherins were debating whether the possibility of learning /summoning/ was outweighed by learning it from a muggle, while the Gryffindors were debating whether they could get away with finding out if this teacher did illegal magic. 

When Professor LaVelle emerged from the back room, all the pureblood students fell silent, mouths open in disbelief. 

The whitehaired man was clothed in a simple black robe, with an undulating red line composed of writing flowing from the bottom to the top of the robe. His feet were bare, as were his arms. 

"What's that for?," Harry heard Granger asking. 

Malfoy, in shock, hissed back, "He's dressed as a Priest of the Nameless One!" 

"Silence," Professor LaVelle commanded. All the first years immediately quietened. "Now, no one must make a single sound until I allow them. No one must move a muscle. Anyone who does may incur... dire... consequences." 

The Professor carefully stepped over the lines of shimmering gem dust, picking up the hem of his robes to avoid brushing the carefully arranged design. Once in the center of the circle, he carefully checked the design, to make sure that it had not smudged and that it was truly drawn. 

The old man started chanting, in a language that gave a good feeling to most of the watching class. Waves of light rose from the gem dust, eventually forming a featureless being of light on one side of the circle. 

~Who calls me?,~ the figure asked. It's voice reminded the onlookers of warm, sunny days. 

"I, He who follows the Nameless One," Professor LaVelle said in a strong voice. "I command you to take no action save speech. What are you, and what is your function?" 

~I am one of those who do the bidding of He Who Is,~ the figure answered. ~He has long had his eye on you.~ 

"I command you to begone!," Professor LaVelle said. The featureless being of light disappeared, and the gem dust had disappeared as well. 

Harry, inured to that sort of display, looked around. Tim and Satanus looked very attentive, Draco and his cliche looked torn between worship and horror, and the Gryffindors looked terribly upset. 

"That," Professor LaVelle said, moving back to his desk, "was a minion of one of the Seraphim. A normal person would call it an Angel, I suppose. As you can see, the energy the components provide consume the components entirely most of the time." 

"... angels?," Harry heard Granger say weakly. "Good Lord." 

Draco's upper lip lifted involuntarily in disdain. "/Angels./" 

The word carried a world of dislike. 

"Hey!," Ron Weasley shot back at Draco Malfoy. "Angels are good, they are!" 

"In actual fact," the Professor cut in, "they are neither good nor bad. As with what you would call 'devils', they have their own agenda. This agenda may be in accordance with yours, or it may be diametrically opposed, but never assume that they are benevolent. The labels over simplify. 

"Now, before you can think of doing anything like that, it is first necessary to understand energy, how to gain energy, and how to discharge it in the necessary fashion to power your Rite. As you can see..." 

Harry sighed deeply as his uncle began writing notes on the blackboard. Man, he'd covered this stuff /years/ ago. 

* * * 

In lightning time, the entire school had learnt about Professor LaVelle. Most of the houses had unilaterally decided that he was Dark, but were confounded by the fact that Professor Dumbledore had acknowledged that Professor LaVelle was a Muggle. 

* * * 

Post-fic Notes: 

Sorry this is short compared to the first two chapters. 

SorceressMisha: They are going to wind up somewhat isolated, I'm afraid. 

Lochar, Kickaha, Henriette, Stratagemini, Alex DarkFire, TopQuark: Thanks for the reviews and encouragement! 


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing! 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. 

Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. 

For reference (yours and mine), Ma Baker has four sons. From eldest to youngest: Robert, Bill, Ash, and Tim.

* * *

"I am a man who walks alone   
And when I'm walking a dark road   
At night or strolling through the park   
When the light begins to change   
I sometimes feel a little strange   
A little anxious when it's dark..." 

Iron Maiden, 'Fear Of The Dark'

* * *

Harry's head lay flat on the table. 

"Cheer up, they might get a clue and fuck off," Tim offered. Some of the students near then looked incredulous at his loose use of foul language. 

"We aren't that lucky," Satanus said, thoroughly depressed. "I wanna go home, where they have modern appliances." 

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day," Tim said approvingly. 

Harry lifted his head from the table, sighed deeply, then started on a sandwich. "At least the food is good." 

"Here's a question," Satanus said. "Why hasn't anyone asked about your eyes?" 

"Uncle Harris told me that it's something like the same reason that normal people don't notice most magic," Harry offered. 

"A Somebody Elses Problem effect?," Satanus asked. 

"Yeah," Tim nodded. "Seems to be. What do we have next?" 

"Er... Transfiguration," Satanus said, now the semi-official interface between the small group and official-dom. "With the old lady that looks like Granny Weatherwax." 

All three looked at the Head Table, towards the stern steel-haired Professor McGonagall. 

"Now that looks like detention, right off," Harry muttered. 

"At least we don't have Potions," Tim offered. 

"But we still have to figure out how to get out of here and into a decent school," Satanus reminded them. 

"Well, what if Tim wrote to Ma Baker?," Harry offered. "She would talk to Grandpa Baker, and he'd raise all hell until things got fixed." 

All three looked at the Head Table again, at the Headmaster this time. Harry pulled out a lined Muggle refill pad, and handed that and a Bic ballpoint to Tim.

* * *

"Severus, what are your newest charges planning?," Dumbledore asked absently, chewing on a corned beef sandwich. 

"Something undoubtedly immoral if not illegal, given that Saint Potter is involved," Professor Snape sneered. 

"He's only eleven," Professor McGonagall protested. "Be fair on him, Severus." 

Snape sniffed. "I will treat him as he deserves, and no more." 

"Still, it would be appreciated if you could find out what they're up to," Dumbledore suggested. "Have you tried the corned beef?"

* * *

Ma Baker coughed as a small imp appeared in a blast of sulphurous smoke. While she was getting used to the things appearing, she doubted anyone could get used to the stench. 

"What've you got, then?," she said rhetorically, spotting the letter the imp was clutching just as it dropped the note in her hands and then vanished in another puff of smoke that didn't smell any sweeter than what it brought in the first place. "Hmmm... a letter! Boys! Tim sent a letter!" 

The remaining three Baker boys surrounded Ma Baker as she read the letter out loud. 

"Dear Ma, missing you already. This school is crazy, they don't even teach maths, English, or Science! I wish someone would make them fix that. Harry and Satanus are a great help, although I think Satanus is going to go mad soon, as this dump doesn't even have electric power. Old Wizard Harris is keeping an eye out for us, but I don't think that some of the snobs here like any of us." 

"That doesn't sound too good," Robert offered. "Keep reading, Ma." 

"I am going to send you film to be developed, as there isn't a photographer's shop within a million miles of this place. If you tell the messenger imp, it will wait for you to send a reply with it. Love you heaps, missing you more, your son Tim," Ma finished up. 

All four looked at each other. 

"Well, that didn't sound too good at all," Ash muttered. He was closest in age to Tim. "We need to get him out of there." 

"Let's not rush in," Ma said thoughtfully. "I think I'll get my Pa onto them." 

Bill and Robert looked at each other, then at Ma uneasily. 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?," Bill asked. 

"I'm sure he won't be too hard on those good-for-nothings," Ma said reassuringly.

* * *

Harry was beginning to /seriously/ not like this school. 

In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall seemed to have completely forgotten the events of the Sorting. When taking roll call... 

"Potter, Harry," she said crisply. 

Harry blinked, leaning back on his chair. 

"Potter, Harry! Harry Potter, you will reply right now!" 

"Er, Miss, his name is Harry LaVelle," Tim offered, raising his hand first. 

"Very well, but no more being cheeky," McGonagall said, correcting her class list. "LaVelle, Harry." 

"Here," Harry said. 

And it didn't get any better from there on in. They had had to take quite a lot of notes, and when the Professor had turned around, she had seen Harry, Tim and Satanus writing down the notes dutifully. 

"And /what/ do you think you are doing?," she asked. 

"Writing notes," Satanus said, rolling his eyes. 

"Regardless of how you may do business in Muggle schools, here in Hogwarts we use quills," McGonagall said, inspecting Tim's ballpoint pen. It then turned into a sparrow in her hands, and fluttered up to the classroom's rafters. 

"HEY! That was MY PEN," Tim protested. McGonagall plunked an inkpot and a quill in front of Tim. 

"And this is now your quill," she said. "Do not lose it." 

She then returned to writing notes on the blackboard. 

Tim found, quite quickly, that the ink from the quill went right through the page, as well as the next few pages under it. He threw the thing to the desk, turning to Harry. 

"Oi!," he whispered. "Pen!"

* * *

Post-fic Comments: 

Sorry this is short, relative to the first three parts. I only write longer than 5k when I'm really, really, really bored. 

AlanP'sMusicRant: 

Had a listen to 'Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's new album. Kinda okay, fairly obvious inspiration by Oasis. If you like death metal, then I suggest that you pick up Rammstein's new album. Even if you don't know German (I don't), it is pretty good. It's probably a good idea to look up a translation on the internet, though, so you have half an idea what they're on about. 

If you haven't already, then I HIGHLY suggest you check out the band 'Bal Sagoth'. British heavy metal, all about wizardry and fantasy. Very, very good. 


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!)

Disclaimer: I own naught.

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing!

Pre-fic Comments:

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it.

Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on.

For reference (yours and mine), Ma Baker has four sons. From eldest to youngest: Robert, Bill, Ash, and Tim.

* * *

(Okay, for a nifty quote here, imagine that you can hear Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake Op 20" here, as played by the Munich Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Henry Adolf. It seriously rocks.)

* * *

After Transfiguration, the three boys had Herbology.

They looked forwards to this about as much as you would look forward to weeding flower beds.

It was about as interesting, apart from a brief moment of excitement when a man-sized Venus Fly Trap had a go at eating Vincent Crabbe.

"Harry, shouldn't you be out helping your friends weed the garden beds?," Professor Sprout asked him, gesturing towards where Crabbe and Goyle were pulling up daisies under Malfoy's watchful eye.

"I sunburn easily," Harry said. "Forgot my hat."

"Oh, really? Well, as long as you bring it next time," Professor Sprout tutted. She turned to Tim and Satanus. "Now, two energetic little boys don't want to sit around on a sunny day like today! Go on, go help your friends out there."

Draco Malfoy looked extremely put out that he had not thought of the sunburn excuse, as he also had exceedingly pale skin.

* * *

Dinner found a grumpy Tim and a snappish Satanus sitting next to a slightly sleepy Harry.

"I can't believe you cut out of Herbology like that," Draco hissed at him.

"What? It's true, he does burn easily," Tim said, reaching past Harry to grab the plate of baked potatoes. "Want one?"

Malfoy gave the metal tray of piping hot potatoes a horrified glance before reaching for the potato salad.

"Satanus, I asked Uncle Harris about your gear," Harry mentioned.

Satanus brightened up immediately. "Yeah?"

"First, he has to set up a quiescent zone," Harry explained. "You know, to minimize magical interference."

"Makes sense," Satanus nodded. "Go on."

"Then, he outlines power gathering and conversion circles to supply electricity," Harry continued.

The computer hacker smiled dreamily. "Ah, beautiful music... what shall we christen the dorms with?"

"Iron Maiden!," Tim immediately said.

"Broken, by Nine Inch Nails!," Harry argued.

"Guess what, you're both wrong," Satanus said smugly. "The True Human Design, by Meshuggah."

"Wonderful," Pansy Parkinson moaned. "Muggle music. I despise orchestras."

Orchestras?, the three boys asked each other wordlessly, looking at each other.

"Aren't you gonna be surprised," Satanus smirked.

"I need an excuse for Herbology," Tim complained. "I hate plants. I live in the city, not the Forbidden Forest."

"We now know what to give you for detention, Mister Baker," a voice said from behind him.

The three turned, to find the man dressed like a very respectable (if enraged and mildly depressed) crow. Professor Snape. Wonderful.

"Oh, you can make me weed gardens, but please don't make me wash floors," Tim begged. "I hate getting wet and dirty like that."

"I shall remember that," Snape said, sweeping past them on the way to the door.

Harry stared after him as he got up, having finished his tea. "I can't believe that."

"What?," Satanus asked as he followed. "That he's that petty, or that he fell for that?"

"Both," Harry said, shaking his head. "They sure have some asshole teachers."

* * *

Uncle Harris stretched as he got down from his step ladder. He had had to paint eight runes in the room (both the top and the bottom of each of the four corners), and had assigned Harry to paint the power collecting and conversion circles.

"Done yet, Harry?," Albert Harris LaVelle asked his adopted son.

"Just... now," Harry said. "I taped up a spare powercord to induce power in, so you just have to connect your appliances up to that, Satanus."

"Brilliant!," Satanus beamed. He connected his power strip to the extension cord taped to the wall, then turned on his stereo and CD player. "Power... on!"

"Are you sure we can't have Iron Maiden first?," Tim asked plaintively.

Satanus shook his head, putting a CD in. "No. I want my Swedish death metal first."

Harry turned up the volume on the amplifier, as Satanus skipped the first couple tracks, then hit pause.

"Loudness turned on, Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Bass cranked up?"

"Yep."

"Ears prepared?"

"Absolutely."

Satanus unpaused the CD player.

* * *

"Future Breed Machine (Mayhem Version)", Meshuggah, The True Human Design

* * *

Severus Snape snapped to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him.

What in God Almighty's name was that sound?!

Beneath the drum beats...

Beneath the wailing, distorted guitars (Lily had introduced him to Led Zeppelin and Iron Maiden -- he suspected that those /were/ guitars) was a screaming voice.

Severus knew all about screaming voices.

That didn't mean he'd tolerate people who /caused/ screaming voices, though.

* * *

Dumbledore smiled as the music roared around him, having tied into the wards of Hogwarts due to the mystical energy empowering the stereo system.

This should prove most amusing and interesting. He'd probably better wander down, just to make sure that Severus didn't give the boys too many detentions.

* * *

Post-fic Comments:

I know, the chronology of album release dates and HP canon is terribly out of whack. Imagine, therefore, that Harry was born in 1990 or something. I dunno.

AlanP'sMusicRant:

"Future Breed Machine (Mayhem Version)" has been described as the hardest song that Meshuggah have done. Considering what they've released on albums like Chaosphere, this is saying quite a bit. I highly recommend all music they've released, although if you don't like Metallica, Slayer, Rammstein, things of that vein, you'll loathe Meshuggah. They do extremely good metal, very technical, where the various instruments play in different time signatures at times, meaning that the riffs are moving at different rates and all kinds of really good things. 


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing! 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. 

Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. 

For reference (yours and mine), Ma Baker has four sons. From eldest to youngest: Robert, Bill, Ash, and Tim.

* * *

"I want to come home.   
It's been so long since I've been away   
And please, don't blame me 'cause I've tried   
I'll be coming home soon to your love to stay   
Coming home to stay   
Coming home to your love, mama I've seen better days." 

Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Comin' Home"

* * *

In a small yet busy bar in New York, the phone rang. 

"Hello, Baker's Bar." 

"Is Lord Baker there?" 

"Who should I tell him is calling?" 

"His daughter." 

"One moment please." 

The softspoken bartender put the handset down on the counter, then moved to the end of the bar. 

"Lord, sir, your daughter's on the phone," he called out softly across the small room to a table where a white haired old man held court. 

"Ginny, bring the handset over for me please?," the old man asked. His voice was grizzled, yet smooth. 

A redheaded girl, daughter to the bartender, brought the cordless handset for the phone over to Baker, then returned to where she was serving up beer and whiskey. 

"Hello?," Lord Baker said into the telephone. 

"Pa?," a familiar voice said. 

"Guin, it is good to hear your voice again," Baker said, a smile carrying through in his voice. 

"It's good to hear your voice too, Papa. I rang about Tim." 

"Little Tim? He's a good boy, him and his brothers. You're bringing 'em up right." 

"I just remember how you did me, Pa. He got invited to a special school up north of London, in Scotland, learning magic." 

There was a pause here. 

"Like Old Wizard Harris?," Baker asked, lowering his voice. LaVelle had done some jobs for him, making up amulets and potions of various sorts. He was good people, in Baker's book. 

"Yeah," Ma Baker confirmed. "Except they don't believe in reading, writing and 'rithmetic." 

"Don't the government over there say they have to?" 

"They think they're above us common poor non-magic folks," Ma spat. 

Lord Baker exhaled while he thought. 

"I'll tell you what, Guinevere," Baker said. "I'll come on over across the Pond and visit ya, then we'll go and visit the boys." 

"Thanks, Papa," Ma Baker said. Her voice developed an edge. "And Mother Kilpatrick's sons better not start up again while they're over here, or I'll tan their backsides for 'em. That goes for the MacDonalds and the rest of 'em too." 

Lord Baker laughed. "I'll tell 'em." 

"This's a transatlantic call, so I'll be goin' now," Ma said. "Brooks says hello, by the way." 

"Okay, love you baby." 

"You too, daddy."

* * *

Draco had no idea what was going on, but assumed that something bad was happening. 

He had been studying in the common room, when... music? had started playing. 

It had begun with a strange beat, sharp edged and yet somehow ductile. Next began something like scraped piano strings, and then... 

Then began something he could only approximate a description for. Lightning turned into sound. 

He recognised the human voice, though. Even though it wasn't anywhere /near/ singing, he recognised it. 

Actually, he had to admit that it was compelling listening. 

He stopped looking around for the source as the portal from the corridors opened, and Professor Snape stepped through, followed soon after by the Headmaster ambling through. 

"Where is it?," Snape hissed through his teeth. 

"Where is what, Severus?," Professor Dumbledore asked, trying to separate a cluster of sticky hardboiled lollies. 

"That infernal screeching," Snape elaborated. 

"Oh, I believe that your newest students are responsible," Dumbledore shrugged. One of the lollies became unstuck. "Eureka!" 

Snape winced as a chorus of deep voices underlaid the main singer briefly, aurally underlining the harsh scream. 

"And I thought Voldemort sounded horrible," Snape muttered. One of the seventh years gave him a puzzled look.

* * *

Satanus was having the time of his life. After being deprived of life and electricity itself, the sweet meaning of life was restored by the graces of Old Wizard Harris. 

So he was happily headbanging to the music, and somehow also managing to play Quake, when Professor Snape burst into his room like a chainsaw murderer with a grudge. 

Harry and Tim had left earlier -- while they liked heavy metal, Meshuggah was a bit /too/ heavy for their liking. 

"/Silencio!/," Snape roared in the direction of the stereo system. 

"Hey!," Satanus protested. "That was mine!" 

"/Mister/ Brooks," Severus hissed at him. "Two hundred--" 

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore gently interrupted. "Take away points when you've calmed down somewhat. For the time being, three detentions, Mr Brooks." 

"Detention?," Satanus asked, puzzled. "What for?" 

"For torturing the entire castle with that... abomination," Snape sneered. 

"Tough gig," the student muttered. 

Mustering self control, Snape whirled on his heel and left, the Headmaster behind him. 

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle poked their heads through the door, one on top of the other like a totem pole with Draco on the bottom. 

"What /was/ that?," Draco asked, both eyebrows raised. 

"Swedish black metal?," Satanus offered. "You know, muggle music." 

"I have GOT to get my own copy of that somehow!," Draco announced. "Can I get a cylinder of it off you?" 

"Cylinder?" 

"Yes, so I can play it on Father's music playback machine."

* * *

Post-fic Comments: 

You've had your first glimpse of Grandpa Baker, now. Inspired by stuff like the PC game 'Mafia', the music video for 'Ich Will' by Rammstein (the guy with the leg brace), 'Fairytale of New York', and other cool stuff. 


	7. Chapters 7, 8, and XX

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Feedback means more gets written, so sure thing! 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. 

Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. 

For reference (yours and mine), Ma Baker has four sons. From eldest to youngest: Robert, Bill, Ash, and Tim.

* * *

"Success is my only motherfucking option -- failure's NOT!" -Eminem, "Lose Yourself"

* * *

Harry and Tim /had/ heard Satanus' music from where they were hiding in the Library. They'd just assumed, however, that he had turned the music up to his normal "Ozzy Live" settings. It didn't come as a shock, though, when it abruptly cut out mid song. 

"Well, thank God that that rubbish is finished," a bushy haired girl said self importantly from her table. 

Madam Pince, the librarian, looked similarly relieved. 

"Dammit," Tim muttered. "It better not have blown up -- I still want to listen to Iron Maiden." 

"You actually like that type of music," the girl demanded incredulously. 

"Nine Inch Nails are better," Harry argued. "I'm Harry, by the way." 

"Hermione Granger," the girl said primly. "My God, there are goths here?" 

"I dunno about Blue Eyes," Harry said, gesturing at Tim, "but I'm not a goth. I just like the music." 

Tim choked for a moment. "Me, a goth! Shit, can you imagine the fall-out from Mum if I did go goth!" 

Hermione sighed. "You two are a lot nicer than Malfoy, even if you are in the same House." 

"He's lucky I haven't told Granddad about him being a little shit to me," Tim snorted. 

"Your granddad? What's your last name," Hermione asked inquisitively. 

"Baker," Tim said proudly. 

"Sorry, I haven't heard of you before," Hermione apologised. "Say... Harry, isn't the teacher for Ritual Magic your guardian?" 

Harry nodded. "Are you having some problems with it?" 

"Well, it's just that... I can't find any textbooks for it," Hermione whined. "There isn't a single book on Ritual Magic that isn't in the Restricted Section! And that's only for Advanced Defense students!" 

"Really," Harry asked, confused. "But I've been learning about it for years." 

"Could you help me," Hermione asked. "Tutor me? I'll help you in the other classes." 

"Sure," Harry said. "Transfiguration is horrible." 

"You're just saying that 'cos the teacher is an old cow," Tim laughed. 

"Timothy," Hermione said, appalled. "Professor McGonagall is a /teacher!" 

"She told me off for using my biro, Hermione," Harry sighed. "So far, this school sucks." 

"But... we've got so much to learn," Hermione said. "Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Ritual Magic! How could it suck?" 

"Okay," Harry said. "Tell me when we learn about how Parliament works." 

"History of Magic," Hermione replied. 

"Nope, that's goblin rebellions," Tim said. 

The other two first years looked at him. 

"What," he asked. "I got very, very, very bored this evening and asked one of the seventh year Slytherins if he taught about anything interesting." 

"Do we," Harry asked morbidly. 

"The high point of Binsy's lectures is when... no, I tell a lie, there isn't one." 

"See," Harry said triumphantly. "Financial management. Calculus, Statistics, basic electronics. I could go on." 

"Okay, I think I'm beginning to see your point," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I wonder if anyone has written a paper on the subject... Real World Curriculums for Magical Schools..."

* * *

Once Harry and Tim had returned to the room they were sharing with Satanus, they were promptly informed of how Satanus' right to listen to music had been trampled under the bootheel of scholastic censorship and oppression. Harry went to get Old Wizard Harris, who took Snape's /Silencio/ off the stereo system once he got there. 

"I think we need to ward this room," Harris said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. 

"Cool," Harry grinned. "What type?" 

"Basic, I think," Harris said. "We can put up fancy stuff later, for now let's just get a functional shield spell up." 

"Why was the music feeding back into the rest of Hogwarts," Satanus asked. 

"For the same reason that Tesla's installation at Wardenclyffe blew up the local power station," Harris said, pulling a piece of chalk out of his pocket. "The stereo wasn't designed to clean any signals coming out of it's power supply." 

"So that's how the castle wards got a taste for electricity," Harry asked. 

"And then the speaker's induction coils could affect the wards and thus the building," Satanus finished. "I get it now." 

"Wards, people," Tim reminded them. 

"Alright, keep your shirt on. Harry, you do the runes in the ceiling corners." 

"Could we make it so that anyone trying to come in without permission got turned into toads," Tim asked gleefully. 

"Pigs," Satanus said. "Or chooks, perhaps." 

"We're just doing a simple shield for the night," Harris said. "No active magic in, no active magic out. A quick, slapdash thing like this won't hold up under pressure, so don't press your luck with it." 

"Okay, I've done the top runes," Harry said. 

"And I've done the floor runes. Right, now you can do the control rune." 

Harry drew a simple, yet elegant rune on a clear section of wall. As he finished, the chalk in all eight corners glowed purple for a moment before settling back into normal chalk. 

"Why didn't my laptop do weird things to the rest of the school," Satanus asked. 

"Playing games on it, were you," Harris asked, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. 

"No," Satanus said quickly. "I was... reviewing some of your books you let me scan." 

"Complex images like that aren't as straightforward to transmit as single electrical signals," Harris shrugged. 

"Say, that girl Hermione was looking for some good books on Ritual Magic," Harry spoke up. 

"Granger? Bushy hair, hand in the air, won't shut the hell up for love or money?" 

"That's her. Only books for it are in the Restricted Section." 

"Okay," Harris said. "I'll let her know she can look through them, as long as they don't leave my rooms. The same goes for you boys. And if any of you damage them, you'll pay for replacements." 

"And now for something completely different," Satanus said, now that the electrical appliances had been settled. He held up a copy of the third edition of the 'Dungeon Master's Guide'. 

Harry groaned. "Satanus, Tim's brothers aren't here. We can't keep playing without them." 

"Ah, but I anticipated that," Satanus said, pulling out a book sized box labelled 'Dungeons and Dragons Adventure Game'. "I brought this!" 

"Isn't that the one for rank beginners," Tim asked doubtfully. He had a level fifteen sorcerer he was getting fond of. 

"You forget our Housemates," Satanus said, moving towards the door. "Come! We must addict them, so we will have other people to support our habit!"

* * *

Post-fic Comments: 

Yes, the Adventure Game exists. I have a copy myself. It even comes with dice!

* * *

**Part 7**

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Nothing says "I like this!" like saying to the author "I like this!" 

Pre-fic Comments: 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. For reference (yours and mine), Ma Baker has four sons. From eldest to youngest: Robert, Bill, Ash, and Tim.

* * *

"You better get on your knees and pray -- Panic is on the way." - Oasis, "Gas Panic"

* * *

Dumbledore was starting to regretting he ever met Harry Potter. One of the reasons was standing in front of him. 

"Sorry, what was your name again," Dumbledore asked, having missed the man's introduction while musing to himself. He didn't need to ask who the man was connected to -- no robes and attitude probably meant that Harry was behind this somehow. 

"Baker," the man said. 

Baker was wearing a three piece brown silk suit, and his right hand was tightly gripping a jet black cane. A shining metal brace was attached to his right leg, almost as bright as his short, snow white hair. Behind him was a greying man in a black two piece suit, Irish in appearance with red hair, and a younger man wearing a tshirt and jeans, seemingly of Scottish extraction. 

"Would it be rude to ask how you got here," Dumbledore asked. "We don't get very many... /muggle/ parents visiting Hogwarts." 

Baker shrugged, shifting his weight to his left leg for a moment. "I simply got in touch with some of my old friends in the government. They were good enough to point me towards the Ministry of Magic, and put in a good word for me." 

Albus blinked. So /this/ was the Baker that had Cornelius sending him even more owls for advice? "I take it you wish to visit young Timothy Baker?" 

"Absolutely," Baker smiled. "And Jack here said something earlier... what was it again?" 

"I'd like to sit in on one of the Potions lessons, if I could," the Irishman said. "I've a Doctorate in Chemistry, myself, and would like to see if there are any similarities or differences between the two disciplines." 

"My word," Albus said. "Professor Snape will certainly want to talk with you, then. Come with me, and we'll have breakfast."

* * *

Tim stopped still as he entered the Great Hall, Harry and Satanus behind him complaining. 

"Hey! Food! Move it," Satanus growled. 

"Grandpa," Tim yelled, running across the Hall to a lengthened head table where Baker was sitting down to some toast. 

"Tim! Good to see you again, my boy," Baker smiled as Tim ran around the table to hug his grandfather. "Your mother told me about your letter." 

"We were kinda hoping she would," Harry said as they ambled up to the Table. "No offense, Professor Dumbledore, but your curriculum sucks." 

"I'm sure we can arrange something to the satisfaction of everyone," Dumbledore twinkled. "You had better hurry through breakfast, though -- you have Potions in fifteen minutes." 

"Crap," Satanus muttered under his breath.

* * *

Potions was... interesting. 

Harry, Tim, and Satanus had gotten into the classroom with a minute to spare, and had found a pleasant surrprise there. 

"Jack," Satanus said, highly pleased. "What are you doing here?" 

"Oh, me and Tom are here to look after your grandfather," the chemist said. "But at the moment, I'm just watching what your Potions lessons are like." 

At that moment, Professor Snape swooped into the classroom. His voluminous black robes swirled behind him as he halted at the desk at the front of the room, and began taking roll. When he got to Harry's name (remembering that Harry's name had been changed to LaVelle), he paused. 

"Ah, yes," Snape purred. "Harry... LaVelle. It will exceedingly interesting to see how well you perform." 

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," Professor Snape said, dark eyes regarding the class dispassionately. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach. 

"Doctor Kilpatrick here," Snape said, gesturing towards Jack, "is here to observe how Potions classes are taught. As such, you will not disturb him." 

Ron Weasley, one of the Gryffindors unfortunate enough to take Potions with the Slytherins, yawned. Snape's head swiveled towards him like a bird of prey. 

"Weasley! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" 

"Tut, tut -- even if your family could afford textbooks, it is plain that you would lack the intelligence to understand them," Snape said. "Five points from Gryffindor. Let's try again. Weasley, where would you look if I told you to obtain a bezoar?" 

"Up your ass," Weasley snapped, plainly angry. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for an incorrect answer, and ten points from Gryffindor for such disrespect towards a teacher," Snape smirked. "For your information, Weasley, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" 

Harry looked over towards Jack. The Chemistry doctor's face was emotionless as he observed the Potions Master. 

"Why are you still writing, Granger? A point for tardiness. Now, we will be brewing a simple potion intended to cure boils," Snape said. His wand flicked at the blackboard, and a piece of chalk danced in the air as it wrote out the instructions for the potion. "Get to work!" 

"Professor," Jack said, "mightn't it be a good idea to lecture the students on correct laboratory procedure, to ensure that accidents don't occur and if they do, the students are clear on what to do?" 

"Quite correct, Doctor, and thank you for reminding me," Snape ground out, his lips a thin line afterwards. The blackboard flipped over, revealling a clean board on the reverse. "Now, this is what we call a /cauldron/. They must be clean, and if they aren't..."

* * *

**Part XX**

Summary: Harry fuses with the Haunter of the Dark and is raised by the wizard who rescues him. (Wizard as in HP Lovecraft wizard, that is!) 

Disclaimer: I own naught. 

Feedback: Nothing says "I like this!" like saying to the author "I like this!" 

Pre-fic Comments: 

This part occurs sometime during Year Two, near the end of it. I want to write this part, I just don't feel like writing the bits leading up to it. 

All latin can be considered 'doggy latin', in that I don't know Latin and am trying to fake it. Some adult language in this. Having a good knowledge of canon proceedings would be a good idea, as I skip a bit of detail later on. For reference (yours and mine), Ma Baker has four sons. From eldest to youngest: Robert, Bill, Ash, and Tim.

* * *

The day would go down in wizarding history. 

It began with the Leaky Cauldron. Fifteen men in sharp black muggle business suits strode in, all carrying strange metal assemblages and briefcases. Once they had entered, not answering Tom's queries, another man walked in. A jet black cane was gripped by the elderly man's right hand. A shining metal brace was attached to his right leg on top of his black suit, almost as bright as his short, snow white hair that contrasted highly with his entirely black attire. A young man of Scottish descent quietly continued through the back door. 

Apart from the leader, the only non-standard thing about the fifteen men were four of them who carried long metal staffs, thickly engraved with strangely disturbing writing that seemed to writhe under one's vision. 

"What can I do for you," Tom asked again, cleaning a glass. 

"We're just passing through," the elderly man said, an American accent plain in his words. "We have... business in the Alley." 

"Okay, then," Tom said, chalking the group's oddities to their origin. "I'm sure you know the way." 

"Indeed," the elderly man said, smirking. "Jack here is quite able to assist me." 

"Well, if you have any trouble you just sing out," Tom said. 

"We'll be sure to," he said. 

"I didn't catch your name, by the way, Mister...?" 

"Baker. Most people call me Lord Baker." 

"We're ready," the Scottish man said, returning. 

"Excellent, Thomas. Well, I'm sure I'll come back through here."

* * *

As the group of sixteen approached Gringotts Bank, four broke off from the main body. Twelve waited while two of the men walked to the front two corners of the building, while the other two walked to the rear corners. Once they had reached those corners, they slammed the metal staffs down in unison into the cobblestones. A giant, glowing rectangle-oid of light formed around the building, shining purple walls of force defending it from the outside world.

* * *

Grimgnaw looked up as the double doors of Gringotts slammed open, the sound cutting through the sounds of money counting, paper shuffling, and business with their customers. Men dressed in strange black clothes walked in as if they owned the bank, brandishing strange metal things as if they were weapons. 

"Excuse me, but I really must demand you leave," Grimgnaw said from where he was perched before his ledger, as the Duty Manager. 

The white haired leader pointed his weapon, which was different from the rest, at a particularly prominent statue. 

For the first time ever, a firearm was used in Diagon Alley. And it was an old Thompson 1928 Sub-machine Gun, also known as a 'Tommy Gun'. The .45ACP bullets ate the old statue quickly, reducing it to powder as the roar of the gun also known as the 'Chicago Typewriter' deafened the room. 

"Siddown and be quiet, and no one gets hurt," the man said. "I'm Lord Baker, and I'm here to relieve you of any miscellaneous valuables you might have lying around." 

"You'll never break our vault security," Grimgnaw said smugly. "And by the time you even got to them, the Aurors would be here to arrest you." 

"It's just as well we're not here for your stupid vaults then," Baker snorted. "Al, John, start rakin' it in." 

With that, six of the men jumped over the counters and opened their briefcases. Six more leapt over, and started shovelling the golden galleons that the goblins had been counting into the briefcases. 

"That much gold will be so heavy that muggles like you could never get it out of here!" 

"It's just as well we have feather charms on 'em, ain't it," Baker snorted. 

One of the customers, an aristocratic looking wizard, jumped to his feet and pulled out his wand. 

BANG! 

He received a fair sized hole in his leg for his troubles, and was reduced to clutching his leg and crying like a baby while his blonde son, terrified by the strange power these 'muggles' exhibited. (Privately, the younger of the two was sure they were wizards masquerading as muggles for some politican reason.) 

"Like the man said, sit down and no one gets hurt," an Irish-American voice said, as one of the suited men lowered his smoking Colt Python. 

Baker smiled widely as John reported that all of the loose valuables had been taken. 

"Okay, boys, let's go!" 

As the sixteen left, four of them pulled out the iron metal staffs. 

"Tim does good work with that Cray," one of them said, running his hands over the engravings. 

"Not another damn word until we get outta here!" 


End file.
